Savage Tales

where. Like we used to know each other."
    "I think you're mistaken," said Steve. "Everyone I used to know is dead and gone. I'm the last of the Mohicans."
    "You have a sense of humor, but it doesn't really make me laugh," the woman said.
    "Everyone likes to comment on my humor," said Steve. "No one likes to laugh."
    "Well, it was good knowing you for these brief moments."
    "I hope you one day recall where we might have met," said Steve. "I certainly won't. By the way, why are you here?"
    "I'm not that old," the woman said. "My time hasn't come."
    "I mean, why are you here on these steps in this neighborhood where young people come to release energy and blow off steam and dance in new and frightening ways that I won't comment upon?"
    "I live here. My granddaughter and I. She likes to throw parties. I find them very frustrating. Young people like her arrive, and I get to clean up in the morning."
    "I'm sorry. Well, good night."
    "Thank you for listening."
    Steve left and walked home, trying to remember who the old woman might have been when she was young and fresh and minus a few thousand wrinkles. Who was under that skin mask? And was she right about knowing Steve? Anything was possible. Anything. When you had that much life behind you, some of it was bound to be forgotten, buried under flaps of skin.
    That night Steve fell asleep watching an episode of You Bet Your Life on the internet, woke up the next day with a kink in his neck and a headache.
    "Ow," he said.
    He baked himself a bowl of cereal and then got out in the sun. The sun was the only thing that kept him alive, he decided, his only connection with life. He walked several minutes in the sun before a car honked at him and he realized he had forgotten to put on his clothes. He returned home and got cleaned up, then set out again.
    His feet took him downtown. He was going to enter a coffee shop and order a beverage, but remembered he had forgotten his vision glasses and didn't want to embarrass himself by admitting he couldn't read the menu. He could engage in a friendly banter and inquire about the beverage choices, but he had lost his skill for banter, for friendliness. So he walked and sharpened his thirst instead, hoping to come across a fountain that would not only quench his thirst, but do it for free.
    He sat down to rest his bones.
    "Hey, it's you again," said a female voice.
    Steve turned and it was an old woman.
    "Do I know you?" said Steve.
    "Yes, from yesterday," said the woman. "I'm the woman who couldn't remember where I knew you from."
    "Can we admit we don't know each other and leave it at that?" said Steve.
    "I thought we had a good conversation yesterday," she said.
    "I can't remember. It's all gone now."
    "My name's Sheila," she said. "Sheila Graves."
    "Sheila Graves?" said Steve.
    "Yes."
    "I once knew a woman named Sheila Graves. What a coincidence."
    "My name is Sheila Graves. Maybe I'm the same one."
    "That's impossible."
    "Why?"
    "Because... well, just because."
    "What's your name?"
    "Steve."
    "Steve what?"
    "Does it matter? Steve Berkshire."
    "No!"
    "Yes."
    "Your brother –"
    "Yes. Johnny. He's gone."
    "And I haven't seen him or you in all these years," said Sheila.
    "I thought you'd left town after we lost him," said Steve.
    "I did. But I came back when my daughter died. I had to take care of her kid."
    "That explains everything admirably. Are you a spinster now?"
    "What?"
    "Are you single, Sheila?"
    "Yes. I don't plan to reconnect at this age."
    "I don't blame you," said Steve. "What would be the point?"
    "True."
    "But we can get coffee together."
    "Okay."
    They walked until Steve remembered he had forgotten his glasses. He told Sheila.
    "It's fine, I'll order for you," she said.
    "You can see?" said Steve.
    "I had the eye surgery a few years ago."
    "The eye surgery."
    He said the words like they were golden grapes held up by the sky god.
    After their coffee they parted. Steve gave her his phone number, but it was for his old phone. She gave him her number, but Steve left it in his pants pocket and washed it into oblivion.
    Later, when he realized he couldn't telephone her, he tried to find her house, but couldn't remember the color. Couldn't remember the street. Even her face was starting to fade.

    Six months later Steve was again walking home from his dentist when he passed the same house again.
    "This is it," he told himself. "I remember!"
    Steve went to the front door and rang the bell. A young woman answered. She looked